


Signature style

by fictionalkid



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Dark Will Graham, Hannibal is not Impressed, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Seduction, Teasing, Will Graham is a Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalkid/pseuds/fictionalkid
Summary: There are three things Hannibal hates about Will’s signature killing style. The first thing is how much he likes to talk to his victims. The second is that he likes to make a gruesome mess, which happens every time. And the third is that he wants Hannibal to have him there and then, which - to Hannibal’s great annoyance - happens every time too.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 25
Kudos: 143





	Signature style

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this started from a tweet I made which I later ended up writing into a proper fic. Enjoy!
> 
> https://twitter.com/HANNlBRAT/status/1313284346506178560?s=20

There are three things that Hannibal hates about Will’s signature killing style. 

The first thing is how much he likes to talk to his victims. Every poor man or woman that is unfortunate enough to witness Will in his element has to endure a fifteen-minute interrogation where he makes them confess all their wrongdoings, and guess which one specifically led them to become closely acquainted with his knife tonight. It is usually followed by an at least ten-minute long monologue about why they deserve to die, culminating with exactly how he is going to kill them, down to the tiniest details, in case they’re not conscious by the time he finally decides to free them from their misery. 

_ “A monster like you deserves to have his heart carved out. But I’m not so sure you have one.” _

Hannibal can’t blame Will - there is certainly an appeal in talking, igniting the fear in their eyes, making confessions roll off of their tongue with a precise caress of a knife, sometimes even getting to hear genuine remorse. Hannibal used to do this too in his youth, in Florence during the first 10 or so kills as Il Mostro, when his bloodlust was still new and all-consuming. These days it is more refined and temperate. No words, no theatricity, a plain and simple snap of the neck does the trick. He doesn't even need to spill the blood.

But today it keeps spilling and Will keeps talking. Hannibal just stands to the side and doesn't say anything, doesn’t let his annoyance show. Interrupting Will’s design would be extremely rude, and he has manners. They respect each other too much to interfere with the way they execute their respective kills. Hannibal’s role here is only to watch, never to disturb the spectacle.

_ “I’m going to carve something else out instead. Your spine, for the spineless bastard that you are? Or your stomach for your endless greed?”  _

The sadistic games are fun - “answer wrong and I’ll cut you, answer right and I'll cut you deeper” - but the incessant screaming and pleas start to irritate Hannibal eventually. Mostly because they’re making it harder for him to focus on his dearest husband’s voice, which he enjoys listening to more than anything else. Will’s tone is casual and frivolous, a complete juxtaposition to the ruthlessness of his words. Music to Hannibal’s ears in all its devilishness. Menacing but oh-so-sweet with its low and dark undertones, bordering on arousing. 

The second part of Will’s signature style that Hannibal hates is the mess. 

Although Will killing with his hands is something that pleases Hannibal immensely - certainly more than using guns, too impersonal - it doesn't have to be messy. Doesn’t have to produce a single drop of blood. But Will likes to have  _ oceans _ of it. A scarlet-coloured stream is painting the walls from where Will has severed an artery, spilling onto the floor from another laceration he’s inflicted. There are chunks of skin, flesh and viscera in the air as he buries his hand into the man’s abdomen. Stomach for the greed, Hannibal deduces. He scrunches his nose in displeasure as a few droplets of blood land on the plastic coating on top of his suit. Will doesn’t like wearing them - “your  _ murder suit  _ is what’s impersonal, Hannibal” - he wants to feel it all on his bare skin, the hot and slick madness. 

_ Blood is completely coating Will’s hands and arms up to the elbows, soaking through his clothes, splattering over his face, clinging to his hair.  _

Hannibal admires the sight. The deep crimson has seeped through Will’s ivory-white button up shirt, making the heavy damp fabric cling to his skin, accentuating the shape of his chest, the curves of his abdominals. He’s going to have to peel the scarlet-stained shirt off later, baring his God-like torso to Hannibal’s starved eyes. As if he’s trying to turn on his lover deliberately. As much as Hannibal hates cleaning up the mess, this part makes it almost worth it. 

_ Will’s crimson-covered hand brushes through his cedar-brown curls, fingers sliding down the back of his head, around the side of his neck to the front, to the buttons of his shirt, the top three strategically left undone.  _

Hannibal’s transfixed gaze follows the movements of Will’s hand as it leaves blood stains everywhere along the way. He wants to suck the crimson off his beloved’s neck and replace it with his own marks, undo the rest of those buttons as his lips travel downwards, pause to kiss the navel as his hands pop that belt buckle open like a magic trick. And he’s going to do it all. Later. 

Will does this often, absent-mindedly dragging his hand over his body, while immersed into his thoughts. If Hannibal weren’t familiar with his husband’s clever and scheming nature, he would almost believe Will does this unintentionally, oblivious to the seductive effect it has on Hannibal. 

The third and the absolute most hated part of Will’s signature style is his libido.

His desire for Hannibal is so intense and nearly overpowering, especially when mixed with the adrenaline and endorphins released by spilling blood, stopping hearts, ending lives. And Hannibal’s lust for him is just as profound. But succumbing to the craving to blend their unclothed bodies together right here and now would be so impractical, dangerous and irresponsible. Hannibal always insists that they wait until they’re somewhere safe first, clean from incriminating evidence. To his disappointment, it is impossible to resist the advances of his sinfully handsome lover sometimes. Well, most of the time. 

_ “Do you like what I’ve done with the body?” _

_ “It’s marvellous, darling.” _

Will is in front of him, a coy hand trailing up Hannibal’s chest, dissatisfied at how he can’t feel anything through the thick plastic of the protective suit. Hannibal is secretly thankful he’s wearing it, the bulky material serving as a physical barrier to help keep himself restrained. 

_ “It seems that you’ve spent more time watching me than my creation.”  _

_ “There is no work of art more gorgeous than you, Will.”  _

_ “You’re such a tease.” _

Will lifts his red-tinted hand up to caress the side of Hannibal’s face, smearing the now dead victim’s blood onto his cheekbones, jawline and lips. He feigns innocence by lifting an eyebrow - oops, let me fix that mess for you - and leans in to kiss the blood splotch off of Hannibal’s bottom lip. And he has the audacity to call  _ Hannibal _ a tease. Hannibal digs his nails into the palms of his hands, knowing that if he lets himself touch any part of Will, he won’t be able to stop.

_ “Nothing compared to what you are. Is this really your signature style to be so seductive?”  _

_ “Not always. I just love watching you squirm because of how much you want me, looking like this.”  _

Hannibal uses the first surface he sees, vertical, horizontal, diagonal, doesn't matter, and slams Will against it, getting rid of all the clothing in a frenzied fashion. Once there’s no more layers in the way, he presses their bodies together, fingers curling around Will’s wrists, gentle for a fleeting second until suddenly it’s a death grip, holding them down. No more wandering hands, no more teasing, no more testing his impeccable self-restraint. Hannibal knows that the sweetest part of allowing himself to lose control is taking it back. 

_ “And now it’s my turn to watch you squirm.”  _

Will responds to his words with a blissed smile, growing into a smug and accomplished grin when Hannibal rolls his hips with a promise and latches his hungry lips onto his neck.

And Hannibal hates it. Hates Will’s signature style and how it’s specifically designed to drive him to the brink of madness. He hates it so much that he can’t help but to love it.


End file.
